Breathe
by Phen82
Summary: The fight with Voldemort is over. The wizarding world is celebrating. So why is Harry crying?


**Author's note**: Ok, this is my first attempt at a fic like this. It is slash, but there are no graphic details involved, for everyone that is against that sort of thing. It is a one off, ie there are no more chapters. It overdramatic, filled with angst and sappiness, so be aware, you have been warned!!!!

**Breathe...**

_February 29th 2004_

_The time has come. The night that I have been anticipating and dreading for my entire time at Hogwarts has now been and past, leaving only the memory of the gruesome fight and the chill of my heart as I lay my loved ones to rest._

_Voldemort is dead. Killed by my own hand, just as the prophecy said it would be. I should be happy. I should be joining the festivities. But how can I when the one thing that would have made me happy, the one thing that I fought so hard for, has been taken from me? How can I stand to see their joyous faces, when the one person who should be at my side, receiving praise also, is forever lost?_

_Today was cold. The rain and sleet seem to echo my insides: cold; empty and desolate. A part of me has died that I can never replace, and I know it is my heart. What is left for me now? Where will I go? Who can I turn to?_

__

A tear fell silently onto the paper, smudging the already close to illegible script. The writer bent his head and sighed, his breath hitching slightly as another followed.

_I promised you I wouldn't cry. We knew it would come to this. But when we discussed it, I never thought it would turn out quite the way it did. It was supposed to be you here, writing in your journal about the great battle. I'm not sure I can do this without you..._

More tears began to smudge the fine parchment of the leather bound volume. The writer sighed once again, putting his quill away in the top drawer of the desk. He blew on the parchment, trying to dry it out and salvage what remained of the words that had taken him so long to put to paper.

Placing the volume carefully inside the second drawer down, he got up from the desk and moved towards the fire. His hands felt like ice, but no amount of heat could ever warm them up again. He blamed it on his heart, which had stopped beating on the night that the final battle had occurred. The night where he had stood triumphant over the darkest wizard of the age, only to turn and find....

'No!' He thought to himself. 'I won't think about it again.'

He dropped into a chair beside the fire, feeling as if he carried the weight on his shoulders. A weight that he had gone without for a short amount of time. A weight which now crippled him with its intensity after being so long without it. He picked up the glass from the table beside the chair and filled it to the brim with the firewhiskey that was beside it. He drank the entire glass in one gulp, then filled the glass once again, allowing his mind to flow freely to the events that had passed.

"I love you"

Those whispered words played back through his mind. The words that had haunted his sleep every night since the last battle. The words that suddenly caused a wave of anger to surge through him. He stood up abruptly and threw the glass at the fireplace, the loud crash and the sudden roar of the fire breaking through the defences that he'd been holding since that day.

He sank to his knees with his head in his hands, his breath hitching with heart-wrenching sobs.

"I hate you!" He screamed suddenly, getting to his feet. His eyes scanned the ceiling of the room as he shouted it out again, as if hoping for a sign that somehow the person it was meant for had heard it.

Receiving nothing but the silence of the chambers he screamed again, picking up the bottle and throwing it as hard as he could at the fire. The flames burst up in an eruption of light as the glass shatter, and the small explosion caused some glass fragments to fly back at him. He looked down silently at the small cuts that resulted on his arm, surprised at the lack of interest they held for him. He stared at the damage that he had caused, but couldn't bring himself to care.

"Harry?" A soft voice sounded from behind him.

He spun around on his feet, wand ready to hex the intruder, but he lowered it when he saw that it was Hermione. He could feel the tears welling in his eyes again, but forced them away.

"Is it time?" He asked. He winced at his voice. It didn't sound like him at all. When had his voice become so raw? So hoarse? So full of anguish that it brought tears to his friends' eyes?

She nodded sadly. He could tell though that she was only sad for him, not for the person who they were supposed to be going to mourn. He felt a wave of bitterness flood through him at the thought.

'They didn't even try to understand.' He thought to himself. 'If only they had bothered...'

He let out another shuddering sigh and picked up his cloak, motioning for Hermione to lead the way.

They made their way through the corridors until they reached the Great Hall. There, they met with Dumbledore, Ron and McGonagall. Harry nodded respectfully at each of them, putting aside his differences because of the occasion.

Dumbledore looked relieved as he motioned for them to go outside.

The words of the ceremony jumbled together in Harry's mind. He could focus on nothing except the small white cross marking the pile of fresh dirt. He was vaguely aware that the others had begun singing a hymn of some description, but he couldn't bring himself to care what they were singing.

Before too long, he felt a tug on his arm again.

"Harry?" Hermione whispered. "Are you ready to go?"

He looked about him. The sky was growing darker, and lightning flashes could be seen just over the horizon. He looked back at the neat grave and felt the dam burst.

He felt arms surround him, but could not bring himself to care whose they were. The only thing that he could focus on was the pit where his heart used to be, and the grave of the person who had taken everything with them.

"Severus!" He cried out, his sobs making it harder and harder to force the words from his mouth. He felt his throat constrict further and he could no longer breathe.

He gasped for air as the sobs grew harder and harder to maintain, and yet grew in their intensity. He felt the arms around him tighten and a soft voice murmuring in his ear.

"Breathe Harry" it whispered. "Just breathe"

He felt the pain begin to lessen as the words penetrated through his pain. He felt his throat relax and found that he could breathe again. He felt the hand rubbing calming circles in his back as the voice continued to whisper.

"Just breathe"

He felt his pulse slow down and his breathing begin to even out, focusing on the circles of his back and the comforting voice beside him. He slowly opened his eyes, and he was no longer beside the grave, but sitting in a comfortable bed. The circles stopped as the person beside him realised that he had now recovered.

"Harry?" The voice asked softly.

Harry raised his eyes to the occupant, overwhelmed by the sense of relief and love he felt, looking into the worried eyes of the man he loved.

"Nightmare?" Severus asked softly.

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice through the emotions that were constricting his throat once again.

He felt the strong arms pull him closer and settle him back on the bed.

"Try and get back to sleep" Severus murmured. "We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow"

Harry nodded slightly, already feeling sleep taking him over again.

The last thing that he heard before he drifted back to sleep were the words from the man beside him.

"I love you Harry"


End file.
